Volume Ii Part 104 (2/2)

Or the buyin' av a few, I'd choose jist pink wee rosies That's all drenchin' wid the dew-- Yon pink wee rosies wid the tears!

Och wet, wet tears!--ay, troth, 'tis years Since we kep' rakin' in the hay Thon day--thon day!

Agnes I. Hanrahan [18

AT THE COMEDY

Last night, in snowy gown and glove, I saw you watch the play Where each mock hero won his love In the old unlifelike way.

(And, oh, were life their little scene Where love so smoothly ran, How different, Dear, this world had been Since this old world began!)

For you, who saw them gayly win Both hand and heart away, Knew well where dwelt the mockery in That foolish little play.

(”If love were all--if love were all,”

The viols sobbed and cried, ”Then love were best whate'er befall!”

Low, low, the flutes replied.)

And you, last night, did you forget, So far from me, so near?

For watching there your eyes were wet With just an idle tear!

(And down the great dark curtain fell Upon their foolish play: But you and I knew--Oh, too well!-- Life went another way!)

Arthur Stringer [1874-

”SOMETIME IT MAY BE”

Sometime it may be you and I In that deserted yard shall lie Where memories fade away; Caring no more for our old dreams, Busy with new and alien themes, The saints and sages say.

But let our graves be side by side, So pa.s.sers-by at even-tide May pause a moment's s.p.a.ce: ”Ah, they were lovers who lie here!

Else why these low graves laid so near, In this forgotten place?”

Arthur Colton [1868-

”I HEARD A SOLDIER”

I heard a soldier sing some trifle Out in the sun-dried veldt alone: He lay and cleaned his grimy rifle Idly, behind a stone.

”If after death, love, comes a waking, And in their camp so dark and still The men of dust hear bugles, breaking Their halt upon the hill.

”To me the slow and silver pealing That then the last high trumpet pours Shall softer than the dawn come stealing, For, with its call, comes yours!”

What grief of love had he to stifle, Basking so idly by his stone, That grimy soldier with his rifle Out in the veldt, alone?

Herbert Trench [1865-1923]

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